


Guilty Filthy Soul

by pepsicancolours



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Mentions of Death, PTSD, brief Bruce Banner, brief Nick Fury, some unpleasant dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 18:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3739729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepsicancolours/pseuds/pepsicancolours
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The New York incident shakes Clint to the very core and Natasha plays damage control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback would be really appreciated and as always, please press the kudos button if you liked it!

 

Natasha lay in bed listening to the man beside her whimper and though she knew it was par for the course, you couldn't be in their line of work without suffering from a few night terrors, it still worried her. Clint Barton was the strongest person she knew. Clint Barton was strong enough to face the world's most dangerous men and women, taking on borderline suicidal missions so others wouldn't have to. Clint Barton was even strong enough to carry the two of them when she fell down, both physically and mentally. But that was before New York and before... _aliens_. Before Clint's free will had been ripped away from him and he'd been compromised.

She knew first hand what it was like to be plagued with dreams she couldn't control. Faces of people she knew during her time at the Red Room would appear in the darkness behind her eyelids, distorting and crowding a frightened, smaller version of herself before rearing back and beating her senseless. Snapshots of her marks and the gory aftermath of their meeting with the Black Widow would filter in, padded out with images of the innocents caught in the crossfire, the children left without parents, the horror of a wife watching her husband bleed out. Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel it haunting her.

So when Clint finally startled himself awake, Natasha knew to give him space. Her touch would only make things worse. Pushing back the covers he sat up, swinging his legs around to dangle over the side of the bed. From her position on the other side, Natasha could see his body trembling in the moonlight. Bruises covered every available inch of skin on his back; mottled yellows merged with dark, awful looking purples. New York had battered them both physically in ways they knew would take them a while to recover. Clint had fallen out of a building, Natasha had one fall on her and the two kept going despite their concussions and shattered ribs. It was what they did. They didn't have a choice. They kept going and would deal with it all later and that's what they were supposed to be doing then – dealing with it. But for once, Natasha didn't have a plan. Her frequent nightmares subsided after a year in therapy with a SHIELD appointed psychiatrist; a condition of her re-assignment to the organisation. (And if she was honest with herself, that and a whole lot of help from a stubbornly cheerful agent with a penchant for arrows). But she knew that even suggesting the option would cause a rift between the two at a time when they needed each other most. So Natasha Romanoff was actually at a loss.

Unable to keep her distance while the archer frustratedly pulled at tufts of his blonde hair, Natasha climbed across and perched next to him.  
“It's okay, Clint” She whispered in a way she really hoped sounded soothing. His hands stilled but those steel grey eyes refused to meet hers.

“I'm fine Natasha.” His voice was strained. “Go back to sleep.”

 _No you're not_ , she thought.

For a moment they both watched Clint's fingers fiddle with the stained cloth wrapped around his blistered hands, the silence heavy with all that they wanted to say but couldn't. Natasha stood abruptly and went to the bathroom cupboard, fishing out the first aid kit that constantly needed restocking. They'd long ago lost count of the hours spent patching each other up in the apartment. She could feel Clint's eyes on her as she rummaged, looking for antiseptic and a fresh set of bandages. Returning to the bedroom, she sat cross legged in front of the tired spy and lay out everything she needed. Slowly and cautiously, she gathered his hands up in her own, periodically looking up at his weary face. Without words, Natasha unwound the fabric and Clint let her. Underneath, the skin was a vicious crimson. The edges had begun to pucker, valiantly trying to heal without any kind of medical attention. For a second Natasha entertained the idea that no one at SHIELD had wanted to check on Clint after what happened but knew that wasn't true. If she knew Clint Barton as well as she thought, she knew this was part of his self inflicted punishment. Hell, it was something Natasha still did herself after a particularly bad mission. But Barton was always there to lift her out of it, just like she was trying to be there for him. Although the sight of the ever resilient archer so broken and wounded unsettled her in ways she would never confess aloud.

None too gently, Natasha washed out the wound, stopping occasionally to pull out pieces of white fluff trapped in the scabs. Blood from the reopened cuts seeped through the waterlogged areas, steadily dripping down his knuckles. Natasha unwaveringly wrapped fresh bandages around the now pink skin, fixing the edges with a metal clip and for a while just held Clint's hands in her own. When Natasha looked up, she saw Clint was asleep again, head tucked on his own shoulder. Turning his hands over in her own, she counted all the scars marring his skin. Scars gained from taking lives and saving so many more.

 

\- - - - -

 

Neither of them approached the subject the next morning, not even as Clint yawned over his coffee and as Natasha googled adult nightmares from the privacy of the window ledge. She couldn't sleep after Clint's...troubles and had resorted to staring out at the city beyond their apartment. Long ago when Natasha moved in, she questioned why Clint had the windows permanently uncovered. Completely expecting a shrug of indifference, Natasha was a little stunned when he confessed it made him feel less shut in if he could see the city below. After all, Hawks weren't meant to be caged in. Sitting there watching the taxi cabs drive by and the native New Yorkers hustle their way through the tourist crowds, Natasha completely understood why Clint had picked the apartment with the biggest windows and chose to leave them bare all year round. Despite aliens falling out of the sky and a team of 'superheroes' destroying half of the inner city as a way to protect the very citizens below, things carried on moving; people still went to work and visited family and went grocery shopping. It was a gentle reminder of why they did what they did.

It didn't escape Natasha's notice that Clint had been avoiding the view.

Closing the tabs on PTSD, yoga and caffeine intake effects on dreams, Natasha shut the laptop and stretched out along the length of the window. Clint was staring at a crumpled piece of paper on the fridge; a drawing of Tony Stark a small child had given her when she worked for the Iron Man himself. The horrendously out of proportion limbs and the little box Stark stood on to make him the same height as the other figures in the picture made it funny enough to Natasha that she kept it. For mocking Stark in the near future, obviously. Clint was zoned out, coffee long forgotten on the counter. As if she needed any more signs, Clint not inhaling his black sludge within seconds of brewing it was a cause for concern all in itself.

“I'm going to Stark tower later on today.”  
Clint was snapped out of his thoughts by Natasha's tired voice and his fingers unconsciously clenched the counter top. The pain burned but kept him in the moment. His heart clenched in panic at the thought of meeting the group again and looking into their eyes knowing it was his fault they were put in danger.

“Uh, I think I'll stay here, there's a game on.”  
In an attempt at forced casualness, Clint threw himself on to the sofa, flicking on the TV before Natasha could answer. She repressed a sigh.

 

\- - - - -

 

“Good morning Miss Romanoff.”  
“Morning Jarvis. Where is everyone?”  
Her black boots clunked against the metal floor and a quick glance told her the AI had selected the top floor as their destination. Cautious of the way her hands shook, she stuck them in her back pocket within touching distance of the pistol in her waistband. Walking on the streets had been difficult, her red hair catching the attention of too many curious civilians. The bright strands fell in front of her face as she pondered what hair colour to try next.

“Mr Stark and Miss Potts are in the communal area, Mr Banner is in a lab on the thirty second floor and Mr Rogers left at 8:03am to assist the police force at the damage sites.”  
Of course Steve was doing anything he could to help. Natasha felt a tiny pin prick of guilt that she wasn't doing the same but how much use could she be? The Black Widow wasn't exactly known for her ability to fix things. She wondered what the others were up to that had left Steve on his own.

“Jarvis? How long has Banner been in the lab?” She looked up at the ceiling, still unused to the voice that came from everywhere. The answer Jarvis gave nearly had Natasha stumbling as she exited.

“Thirty six hours, miss.”

The information echoed in her mind as she took in the situation before her. Bits of the Iron Man armour littered the floor: an arm with a broken repulsor lay on the smashed coffee table, a chest plate hung out of the fridge door and a leg stretched out across the dining room table, on a sea of destroyed glassware. Natasha crouched down low, one hand curling in a fist while the other reached to grab at the gun. The air smelled like burning but the fire alarms weren't blaring – a good sign. Had Stark been taken? Did Loki escape and come back for revenge? Had Tony accidentally annihilated himself in his own living room? Straightening up, Natasha stalked around the mess, toeing the arm with her boot. The circuits in the palm sparked, little embers flying outwards and ruining what was probably an extortionately priced rug. Raised voices – a male and a female – came from the bedroom area, slowly getting louder as they approached. Natasha swiftly raised her gun, hands tightly pointing it in the direction of the conversation. Feet squared and firmly planted on the ground, she prepared herself for battle.

“I cannot even believe that this is my life now. What on earth is wrong with you Tony?!” A pause. “Wait, no, don't even answer that, I'm sure there's entire psychiatric journals written on you. I can't believe you!”  
Pepper Potts stormed into the kitchen area, a broom in hand. A weary Tony trailed her with his shoulders slumped. Natasha hesitated in making her presence known, figuring Tony could probably do with the dressing down.

“It was an accident! Pepper...Pep, look at me.” She faced him, mouth in a tight line. “I'll re-calibrate and it wont happen again, I promise.” Tony walked forward as if to embrace the CEO but she stepped back, putting the broom between them. Natasha couldn't hear it as much as see the sigh, Pepper's shoulders rising before falling quickly.

“All I wanted, I just wanted one meal Tony. One single meal. With no toys or demi-god's or aliens-” Natasha didn't miss the small slip in Tony's expression and the way his right hand twitched at the mention of what happened. “Just me and you, together, safe and able to sit and eat some good food that didn't come straight out of a cardboard box.” Pepper sounded deflated and tired. The next time she spoke, she was borderline irate. “I wanted some normality after you all had been fighting aliens! But you have to go and destroy the apartment too!”

Tony's tired face slipped, all of his features clenching before he picked the Iron Man visor up off the floor and walked out without looking back. Pepper froze mid-sweep as she watched the older man just leave. Tony Stark never walked away from an argument, especially one about his armour. She pivoted to take in the rest of the damage just as Natasha darted through the entrance to the stairs, doing what she did best; disappearing.

The televisions in the lobby of Stark Tower were always turned on to the news, usually some kind of clip with a middle aged bald man talking about something stupid, (Natasha really didn't care for politics and it's show ponies) and people passing through ignored the monotone voices. But as Natasha crossed the floor she noticed more than a few eyes lingering on the broadcasting image. Concerned it was something to do with Loki or another attack, she paused to take in the footage.

Steve Rogers – Captain America, holding up a support beam from an office block with only his shoulders. Even though the camera shot was wide the strain on Steve's muscles was unmistakable, his legs shaking under the pressure. The fabric of his suit was torn all over, bloody scrapes visible through the holes, and dust coated his eyebrows so thickly she knew he was breathing in even more. Natasha had been in similar situations, the taste of sand and soil a stark reminder of close call missions. If she thought about it too closely she could still feel the particles gathering and clogging up her throat and the panic that came with it.

Everyone watched in morbid fascination as the all American hero struggled to bear the weight, his face turning a frightening shade of red. Moving in small increments, Steve shifted the metal away from a mound of rubble. The other workers rushed forward and the camera jerkily zoomed in on a small man exiting a hole no bigger than his shoulders. Everyone in the lobby let out a collective sigh before the cheers and yells began. While she knew it was a good sign that the city was healing, as she watched her comrade fall to his knees and hide his face in bloodied hands, Natasha couldn't help but hate the people for celebrating when so much was still broken.

 

\- - - - -

 

It didn't take long for the whimpers to evolve. What started out as incoherent mumbling quickly progressed into shouts and screams loud enough to wake the neighbours. Clint's body would freeze completely, sweat dotting his brow as he bellowed out co-ordinates and commands to his team, reliving the battle over and over again. The begging was the worst. Some nights Clint would curl into himself, fingernails digging deep grooves into his palms that would leave red streaks on their white sheets. He would start off loudly demanding his body respond, to not open fire on his fellow agents, to work the way he wanted it to, but would break off into sobs and whispers simply just pleading for anyone to help. On those nights Natasha broke her no touching rule. She'd slowly bridge the distance between them, curling herself against his shaking body, her cheek resting between his shoulder blades and hands covering his own. The two would lie in silence listening to the sound of car horns blaring and people shouting in their apartments and underneath all that, the rhythm of their heartbeats. They were alive. They were safe. They had each other. Those were the words Clint repeated to himself over and over as he lay awake through to the morning.

The dreams were agony. Clint could no longer remember a time where he just slept. He'd see the faces of people he hurt or put in harms way, their expressions filled with horror and shock that one of their own was betraying them. He'd see Loki's eyes stare into his and felt the unshakeable cold of the sceptre touching his chest as everything he'd come to rely on was taken away from him. He'd see Natasha rushing towards him with a face she only reserved for her targets. He was to destroy and kill the only woman who had the capacity to put up with him. He could feel the need, the _want_ to inflict pain rise to the surface. He could see it all and yet was completely unable to stop it. Every night it felt like he was trapped in his own mind again, just for a whole different set of reasons.

Clint didn't know how much more he could take before he'd crack.

Natasha couldn't unsee the splinters in his façade.

 

\- - - - -

 

“I don't see why. The situation is under control.”

“It's an order Romanoff.”

“No.” With her back to the wall, the assassin spoke with a dangerous lilt. Natasha knew she was being callous, even rude, and that going up against Fury about something so trivial would most likely backfire but it was to protect Clint. Clint who she'd bought eye drops for to cover up the puffiness, expensive coffee to keep him standing upright and who had been dozing with his eyes open in the chair across from her since the meeting began.  
Stark and Rogers sat at the table, the former typing away on his phone and the other staring between the two arguing like he was watching verbal tennis. Bruce had yet to show.

“No? Did I just hear you say no?!” Fury stared incredulously at the agent. “It is a DIRECT order, Miss Romanoff. There's a half mutated man injuring civilians that needs taking care of.”

“We're not doing it. You have other agents.” Speaking calmly she continued, glancing at Clint who was half awake now, the raised voice of their director stirring him. “With all due respect sir, some of us have yet to recover.” Her eyes swept across the row of exhausted, depleted men and wondered why Fury couldn't see the state of the team.

“With all due respect, Miss Romanoff-” Fury spoke between gritted teeth. “You work for me and when I order you to do something, you do it or will be terminated immediately.”

Natasha opened her mouth to argue again, only noticing Clint's almost imperceptible head shake at the last minute. Clint could do this...for her. He saw the anxiety in her creased brows, the pursed line of her lips and he felt guilty for putting it there. He could pull himself together for one small mission. He would.

 

\- - - - -

 

The truck suddenly stopped, jolting Clint's aching body forward while Natasha and Steve had the luxury of remaining in their positions. The redhead smirked, barely allowing for the tilt of her lips while Steve searched outside the window for what was happening. Clint gave Natasha his middle finger only to receive a singular arched eyebrow in reply. The back and forth was so natural between them that he almost forgot about how damaged things were. Almost.

The street was blocked with cars for miles, many of the drivers standing haphazardly with their heads drawn back, hands shielding them from the sun. The group followed their gazes and saw what Fury had been talking about. The giant figure loomed a couple of feet above the cars with its tail swinging wildly behind as it stormed through the abandoned vehicles. A torn lab coat hung off seaweed green skin, the white fabric black with charring as if the thing had crawled through a fire already. If aliens hadn't rained down on New York days before, Natasha wouldn't have believed what her eyes were seeing.

Lizard man was pushing forward, picking up and throwing empty cars out of his way while Iron Man flew ahead, towards the source. A young woman ran up to the trio, screaming for help hard enough to turn her face purple as she pointed towards a mini van.

“MY HUSBAND! Please, please help me! HELP!” The woman's face was streaked with blood and Clint's fingers involuntarily clenched. His nightmares were haunting him. She half grabbed, half dragged Captain America to her husband who was hidden behind billowing smoke and smouldering metal. Natasha took one look at Clint, their eyes meeting before both taking off in opposite directions. This was what they always did. Natasha down low. Clint up high. This was just a routine mission, nothing he hadn't done before. Clint muttered the words to himself as he looked for somewhere centralised and structurally sound. Maybe if he said them enough, he'd convince himself.

As Natasha ran she couldn't help but glance over her shoulder to make sure Clint was still with them and the sight of him clinging to a fire escape relieved her in a way she felt awful for. When had she stopped trusting her partner? The screaming woman had reached the van and was sobbing loudly as Steve used his shield to wrench open the crushed door. Natasha swooped in under his arms, pulling the grown man safely through the small gap and depositing him coughing and spluttering, in his wife's arms.

“Karma-chameleon is stuck at some abandoned cars.” Tony's voice echoed through the comms, showing no sign of his usual jest. “I'll keep him busy.”

Without speaking the two moved onto the next car, repeating the motions and trying to clear people away from the street. As Natasha smashed the back window of a taxi cab to free a passenger, Steve tried to rescue the driver and in such close quarters, she could see his blue suit was still torn in places. Patches had been messily sewn up with the wrong colour thread but it looked like there hadn't been enough time to get them all. The images of Steve's slumped body burned behind Natasha's eyelids. They were pushing themselves too far. Couldn't anyone else see how broken they were?

A whine of screeching metal turned the duo's attention away from the civilians just in time to see Tony Stark fly backwards through the air. His body hit an apartment block wall with a bang. Steve and Natasha flinched at the impact. Dust rained down as onlookers scrambled to get out of the way. Seconds passed. Tony stayed completely still. Rage bubbled inside of Natasha. This wouldn't happen, not then. They couldn't lose Stark to something so idiotic – not after he'd just about survived Loki's rampage.

The collision had caused neighbouring buildings to tremble and Clint hurried up the fire escape, glancing below as he climbed. His footfalls were in perfect time with loud gunshots. Searching for Natasha's trademark red hair, a glimmer of gold in the sunlight attracted Clint's attention like a magpie and he turned just in time to see Stark slide down the side of a building. One of his repulsors was out, making his descent wobbly and uneven. Camera crews swarmed below, trying to broadcast Tony's humiliation live. Clint wondered if Fury was watching it all unfold or whether he even cared.

“Tony! Tony, are you okay?” Steve's voice parted the grunts and swears coming through the ear piece.

When Tony replied, his voice was hoarse, “I'm good. Where do you want me Cap?”  
Clint watched as Tony lurched left before righting himself. He definitely wasn't good.

“Need you to distract if you can. Hawkeye, you found a position yet?” Clint hoisted himself up over the ledge, less gracefully than he would have liked. “We're gonna need you in a sec.”

Clint's ribs ached as he began setting up. Natasha was still shooting at the lizard and Steve had only succeeded in chopping the tail in half. Stark swarmed above them and the whole thing looked straight out of a movie. If King Kong met Godzilla he mused to himself. It was a testament to how _not good_ Tony was that he hadn't already made a joke.

The creature followed the Iron Man armour, looping back around on itself and heading away from the intersection. Natasha had swapped her guns for a thermal wire, using Cap's shield as a launching pad to swing around the torso. Without much effort, the lizard man broke through and Clint watched as the wire snapped back, slicing into Natasha's leg.

“Black Widow, what-” Steve was abruptly cut off by a vicious swear. Clint laughed to cover up his unease. He'd seen Natasha in worse situations but that didn't make him any less anxious. Reaching behind him for an arrow with a ridged nock, Clint stood with his legs apart, bow braced. He pretended not to notice the way his hands shook.

“Hold back.” The calm voice was at complete odds with the pounding in his chest. Firing off two explosion arrows in quick succession, Clint's breath caught as he fought back memories of the Helicarrier. If anyone heard the choking noise, no one mentioned it.

One arrow landed square between the shoulder blades of the creature, failing to lodge in its thick hide while the other was a second too late, hitting the ground where it previously stood. The blast did nothing but anger their enemy even more. The lab coat fell away in a shower of flames. Clint watched in shock as cars were being thrown in every direction while Steve and Natasha leapt out of the way. Stark had dipped considerably, the suit struggling to keep him upright. They were a mess.

Their target started walking onwards again. Clint made a split decision. Hooking his bow around himself, the archer forced his bruised and healing body to sprint across the rooftop. The momentum would carry him across to the next one but he was unsure whether his battered hands could take the weight.

“Cap, gimme a boost.”

“Watch out Stark, up on your left.”

“Hawkeye?”

“Can someone get rid of one of his arms?”

The chatter of his fellow team-mates fell to a dull silence as Clint threw himself across the gap. Easily reaching the ledge, his fingers grasped at the concrete painfully. The blisters and cuts flared in agony from the pressure. Arms shaking, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, Clint gradually pulled himself upwards. Someone below gasped. His grunting echoed in the alley way underneath. More gunshots rang out. Using the last bit of energy he had the agent crawled over the edge, slumping on the other side.

“Is his tail growing back? What the-”

“Hawkeye, where are you?”

“He's heading North! Someone cover my left side!”

With shallow breath and unsteady legs, he rose and looked around. Natasha was riding the back of the lizard now while Steve set about removing another arm. Tony was on the ground throwing things. Clint canvassed the area to make sure he was alone and that's when he saw it. When his heart dropped into his stomach.

Beyond the rooftops was a path of debris leading straight to Stark Tower. He hadn't realised they'd been that close but now he could see it. All the destruction. Quietly stumbling forward, Clint couldn't tear his eyes away from the view. He helped cause all of it. He wasn't strong enough to keep away Loki and he wasn't capable enough to fix his mistake. He'd failed and people had gotten hurt.

Multicoloured ribbons hung in the wind on railings, next to memorial shrines and flowers. Hundreds of bouquets littered the pavement in respect to those who'd been injured.

“Hawkeye, can you hear me? Hawkeye!”

“Watch out Widow!”

“Yes, that's it! Get him there!”

A sharp clanging noise brought Clint's attention back to where he was. The bow was knocking against his clip as he shook. It was too much. He thought he could do it – do it for Natasha. She deserved better than a weak man. A monster. Clint was no better than the...the thing they were fighting. Clint probably had a _higher_ body count. He needed to get away. Far far away. Before he hurt anyone else. Before he could be used as a play thing again.

Almost as if he was on autopilot, Clint stashed his bow before climbing down the fire escape.

“Anyone got visual on Hawkeye? Where is he? Hawkeye! Report your co-ordinates!”

Clint removed his ear piece and relished in the crunch it made under his boot. Turning his back on the fight, Clint left.

“HAWKEYE! Cap you seen him? Stark? Where he's gone? Hawk-CLINT!”  
Natasha's voice was hoarse from shouting. Her leg was still bleeding as she frantically looked around, scouring the rooftops for the archer but coming up empty.

Clint was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Natasha bring Clint back from the edge?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, first time writing such big action scenes so any feedback would be really helpful and appreciated. Thank you for reading! Don't forget to press the kudos button!

 

Natasha had felt fear before: when she was twelve and _they_ caught her talking to one of the other girls, the day she realised she wanted – no, needed out of the game, and when she walked away from a months long fight, with Clint Barton at her side instead of in a body bag. But nothing had ever seized Natasha's heart like her partner's disappearance. Those fears she could control; this time it was all up to Clint.  
  
Everyone at the tower had been on edge since their best marksman had gone awol; Clint's vanishing act oddly enough, uniting them once again. Steve was convinced Loki had returned to steal their comrade away while Tony (still holding a grudge from being thrown into a wall) babbled incessantly about it having something to do with the lizard. Natasha sat by, silently chewing over the situation at hand. The irony didn't escape her notice; Clint was too afraid to face the team, she saw as much in his guilty expression when she asked about visiting the tower, yet Steve and Tony were fighting over how to bring him back to them.  
  
“Jarvis, how's Bruce doing?” Tony stood up to make a smoothie, favouring his left side as he did so.  
  
“Mr Banner is currently meditating, sir.” Stark made a noise in the back of his throat.  
  
“Good for him. Anyway, I'm telling you Cap, this has something to do with our lizard friend.”  
  
“You mean the lizard you blew a hole through? The one that SHIELD confirmed worked on his own?”  
Steve was sat sewing his costume back together, refusing to let anyone else handle it. Natasha was distantly grateful it was his suit and not open wounds.  
  
“Oh and who do you think it was then? A kid who really needed an improvised father figure for show and tell? Oh wait, maybe it was the Easter bunny!” Steve's face pinched at Tony's sarcasm. “Yeah, the way this week is going, I wouldn't be surprised.”  
  
If Natasha knew Clint half as well as she thought she did, she knew that nobody had taken him. But where did she go from that thought? Had he run off to Alaska? Gone to a safe house? Was he just wandering the streets looking miserable? She hated him a little for making her worry. Natasha Romanoff never worried.  
  
“I'm telling you, no crazy son of a bitch who decides to transform himself into-”  
  
“He's not been taken by anyone.” Natasha spoke aloud, causing Tony's head to whip around in her direction. Steve stopped mid-sew.  
  
“What? Where is he then? I know he hasn't contacted you because - wait, you guys don't have a telepathic thing going on do you?” Tony only stopped to take a swig of a green concoction.  
  
“Clint's been finding things a little...difficult since Loki. He's convinced you guys think he's a traitor and that he put you all in danger because he couldn't stop him.”  
  
Tony immediately replied. “Christ, I'm all for playing the conscience stricken warrior but-”  
  
“Tony!” Steve interjected before Stark said something he shouldn't. “So he blames himself?” Natasha nodded.  
  
“But that's ridiculous! He fought just as hard as the rest of us.” Natasha wished Clint could see Steve's utterly sincere expression. A look like that from Captain America would absolve anyone of their sins.  
  
“I know but he's beating himself up over it.” She paused, contemplating how much to let them know. The two continued staring at her and she could have sworn she saw concern cross Tony Stark's face. “Badly.”  
  
There was a pause before the two blurted out. “What do you want us to do?”  
  
“Cover for him with Fury and Coulson.” Natasha collected her things and gently placed a hand on Steve's arm before heading to the elevator.  
  
Tony started up again. “Did you know that reptiles-” Natasha heard Steve's sigh even as the doors closed.

 

\- - - - -

 

It took Clint three days to turn up, stumbling drunk into their apartment, reeking of booze and stale sweat. Outfitted in a blood stained t-shirt over his gear, he swayed unsteadily on his feet, opening and closing his mouth as if searching for excuses. Instinct threatened to take over and Natasha had to stop herself from running over to inspect him for injuries. She knew without checking that the blood belonged to him. It wasn't the first time one of them had fought to feel something in the form of a bar brawl. It was so unbearably predictable that Natasha wanted to kick him for not being more original. The entire situation was so jarringly domestic that neither of them knew what to do for a handful of minutes. Clint spoke first.  
  
“I, uh,” He cleared his throat. “I just came back for some, uh, some stuff.”  
  
Natasha's steely resolve faltered a little. Stuff? What stuff? Where was he going? Was he leaving? But as quickly as the panic set in, she shoved it to the side and anger rose to the surface.  
  
“What do you think you're doing Clint?” The dishevelled man had started rummaging through a drawer to their left, looking for something.  
  
“I'm just looking for my, um, some cash.” He wouldn't meet her eye. “I'll go as soon as I find it.” Natasha walked over and slammed the drawer shut, narrowly avoiding Clint's fingers. He yelped back in surprise before frustration clouded his features.  
  
“What are you playing at Natasha?” Now that she stood closer, she could smell the smoke clinging to his clothes.  
  
“You're not going anywhere. You can't run away like this Clint.” The archer stepped back, shaking his head and walked over to the large framed picture of St. Stephen's Basilica. Behind was a custom built safe full of fake ID's, the few pictures they had and a couple of stolen artefacts the two chose to keep as souvenirs. Clint was punching in the pass code.  
  
“I'm not running away.” Natasha let out an almost imperceptible growl before flinging out her arm and pushing Clint up against the wall, forcing him to look at her.  
  
Her head pounded. She'd spent three days with no clue where Clint had gone and the entire time he'd been in a bar somewhere. He only came back to get enough to leave again. The look on his face when she caught him opening the door stuck in Natasha's mind – he hadn't expected her to be there, had wanted to slip out unnoticed. He was prepared to leave her and that hurt. It hurt Natasha more than she realised was possible after all these years; after everything she'd been through.  
  
“You're not running away from this Clint Barton. I wont let you!” The archer struggled under her hold, scrabbling to gain purchase. “You feel guilty, I get it! Don't you think I've felt guilt too? Shame? Remember Korea? You helped me then and I'm helping you now. You're not going anywhere!”  
  
With only a twitch in his eyes as a warning, Clint pushed hard, rushing Natasha forward until her back slammed against the opposite wall. She grunted as the air escaped her lungs. “Korea was nothing like this! You don't understand!”  
  
“You don't think I understand what it's like to be brainwashed, huh? To have your sense of control stripped away from you and to destroy people's lives under the command of someone else? Go on, say it! Tell me that I don't understand Clint because if there was going to be one person on this planet that does understand – it would be me.” She practically spat the words, hooking her fingers under Clint's forearm before throwing him flat on his back.  
  
“You don't think that-” Natasha was cut off by Clint flipping them over, his knees coming round to straddle her hips while his hands grabbed her wrists.  
  
His face was close to hers, turning red as he yelled. “I killed people! I could see what was happening, feel my hand reaching for my gun. I could, goddamnit. I was weak! Too weak to hold him off and I'm a danger to you Natasha.” His voice softened. “I'm a danger to the whole team and I can't be around – I can't be responsible for anything that happens. Loki... Loki could come back at anytime.”  
  
Natasha used his lapse in attention to roll forward, bringing Clint around and onto his back again. Some of the anger had ebbed away at his previous admission so she didn't slam down as hard as she could have done. “Listen to me Clint. Clint look at me,” She grabbed his face. “It could have happened to anyone. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, like you always are.” The corner of Natasha's lips lifted up, her grip on Clint's face softening. “You were unlucky. But Loki's not coming back.”  
  
With a tilt of his hips, Clint knocked Natasha off balance, shoving her hard. He quickly scrambled up into a standing position. “I can't unsee what I did and I'm not running away, I'm not. I'm getting out before I do more damage.”  
  
The two master assassins circled each other, not unlike their meeting a few days prior. This was so far from what Natasha had wanted to happen. “I told you, you're not going anywhere. You're going to stay here and work through it. You've got me Clint, I can help. You leave now and you're on your own.”  
  
“Exactly.” Natasha reacted instantly, throwing a punch that Clint blocked before returning one of his own.  
  
“There's help Clint. Professional help. The others are struggling too. Tony's on the verge of blowing himself up,” Another punch and a block. “Just to figure out how he survived a wormhole.” Clint kicked out, landing a blow on Natasha's side. “Steve's trying to rebuild the city on his own.” Natasha landed a punch on Clint's sternum. “Bruce? I haven't seen Bruce since it all went down. No one has.”  
  
Clint almost visibly snapped, letting go of whatever was holding him back and he squared himself before repeatedly hitting out. His fist met Natasha's lip, the blood trickling down her face just as it had in one of his nightmares. He roared, “EXACTLY! I DID THAT TO THEM NATASHA. ME. I DID IT!”.

 

Their heavy breathing filled the silence. Natasha was tired and ready for this to be over. Call it foul play or an evolutionary advantage but Natasha aimed and kicked out at Clint's groin, almost instantly bringing him to his knees. Grasping his hair in one fist she brought his eyes to meet hers again and spoke slowly, evenly.  
  
“You did nothing Clint Barton. You were brainwashed by Loki. Loki did all this, not you. Never you. Steve and Tony do not blame you for anything that happened. They looked for you despite me telling them to stand down. You do not need to feel guilty. It was out of control, out of everyone's control.”  
  
Natasha's tongue poked out to prod at her burst lip, her eyes inspecting the bruised cheek Clint was bound to have in a few hours. They were a mess. Clint's eyes glistened a little in the diminishing daylight streaming through those big windows.  
  
“I think,” His voice was gravelly, worn. “I just need some space.  
  
“Space? Space we can do.” She held out her hand and the archer took it, rising to his feet. Natasha impulsively brushed her fingers across Clint's cheekbone, memorising the feel of his skin underneath her fingertips before walking out of the apartment. She left, hoping against all odds that Clint would still be there when she returned.

 

\- - - - -

 

Clint didn't want her pity or sympathy or whatever she was trying to give him in those looks, he just needed a few days to level out, shake the nerves loose. She just needed to give him a few days of space. Some time to get his head straightened out.  
  
Clint Barton found himself eating those words days later as he trembled in Natasha's arms, images of blood soaked walls burned into his eyelids.

  
*

 He'd found himself unable to fall asleep that night despite the exhaustion in his limbs. Clint had been training all day, working himself harder than ever before in a vain attempt at trying to be better. He wanted to be faster, stronger, tougher, ready in case Loki ever came back. He never wanted to be under someone's thumb like that ever again. The powerlessness had reminded him too much of his childhood and for every memory his mind threw up: of Barney, of his father, of the Swordsman, Clint pounded harder and added more sets onto his routine. His mind hadn't given up by the end of it but his body sure had. At least he'd succeeded in feeling something other than guilt.

 Clint lay in bed, curled up in a foetal position despite his legs aching. The lights outside his window twinkled and the voices from other apartments carried through but that wasn't what was keeping him awake. It was the fear. The dreams were torture. Clint felt like he was going out of his mind; he couldn't sleep without being reminded, couldn't be awake either without the images following him. Every night the little girl with half her face missing would visit him. She'd hold dream Clint's hand and lead him through a maze of crumbling tower blocks, the duo narrowly missing being crushed under falling bricks. She would chatter on about school and her toys as they passed bodies lying haphazardly in the street. Eventually they would reach a small alleyway and the little girl would turn to face Clint, her muscles visible through the missing flesh as she pronounced they'd arrived. Following her pointed finger, he'd see the rest of her family sprawled in a heap, their lifeless eyes staring into his. 

Dream Clint would rush forward, checking each body for a pulse as the little girl watched on in wonder. Every single time, they'd all be dead. A laugh would filter out from the alley and both the little girl and Clint would turn to face it. Instinctively, he'd push in front of the her, shielding her from whatever was making that horrible noise. Loki would appear from the darkness, eyes glowing emerald green as Barton's legs involuntarily walked away from the child. His body would be cold, ice cold but he couldn't even shiver. His body was stuck. Loki would approach the child, lifting her up by her ponytail as she screamed and wailed, asking for Clint by name.  
  
“Clint, help me! Clint, don't let him! Please,” She'd sob. “Please.”  
  
And Clint would scream and shout, his head almost bursting with rage. But he couldn't move, completely unable to stop Loki from slitting the little girls neck. The blood would trickle down her tiny body, pooling at his feet, growing and deepening until Clint was choking on it. The warm blood in his mouth felt so real that sometimes, only sometimes, would Clint wake up at that point.  
  
Usually, after that, the rest of the dream would vary. Sometimes he was pushing Tony off of Stark tower while he had no suit on, crushing Captain America's skull under a block of ice, burying Bruce under a mountain of lead and concrete. The worst was Natasha's.

 Loki had pulled something out of him, a plan long forgotten from decades ago. Something he needed before, when he was chasing Natasha around the world. A way she could be disposed of. Loki had brought it to the surface of Clint's mind where it stayed, even now. A grotesque and honestly frightening rendition of how he would kill the only person he'd ever loved. It was intimate, clouded with his feelings for the master assassin and the way in which he now knew her. It was bloody, unfair and it all came from Clint's mind. 

  
That night was a Natasha night. She'd been staying in their spare bedroom since the fight, giving him the space he asked for. In the mornings they'd eat breakfast together before she disappeared out the door, not returning until the sky was dark. He had no idea where she went and felt too awkward to ask. But every night she'd crawl into the empty room, leaving Clint to have their bed.  
  
When Clint was younger, he sleepwalked, a lot. His brother Barney would steer him back to bed, tucking him in before either of their parents could notice but it had been years since sleepwalked. Which is why he knew things were bad inside his head, when he'd started bumping around their apartment in the middle of the night. That night though, was too far and they both knew it.  
  
Clint, still fully asleep, found himself standing at the foot of the bed in the spare room. Natasha's red hair stood out on the pale blue sheets, the moonlight falling on a sliver of bare skin above the sheet. Tiptoeing around, Clint flipped the knife in his hand around and around, enjoying the pressure of it in his palm. A quick slice across the ankle to stop her from running away. A stab in the thigh to start the bleeding before heating the knife and cauterizing it. He'd take his time, enjoying the screams and the slow agony. A lit match rolling it's way down her porcelain skin. A hot blade sinking in between her ribs. It would be slow, painful, a punishment. Clint pulled back the sheet gently, even when fully unconscious aware of his training. The knife felt heavy as he raised it, ready to swipe downwards. His wrist was caught in a tight hold, the redhead now fully alert and twisting his arm painfully until he dropped the weapon. She used her other hand to throw a glass of water from her bedside table, soaking herself as well. Clint's eyes blinked doggedly, trying to process why he was wet and standing above an equally wet Natasha in the middle of the night. “Wha-”  
  
Natasha had heard him as soon as he came in. She wasn't a heavy sleeper, not in her line of work. With one eye scrunched closed she'd monitored his movements, weighing up whether this was Loki again. Had she broken her promise to Clint that Loki wouldn't be back? She listened as Clint's toe met the trunk holding spare towels and he grumbled a little in pain before carrying on towards her. No, this wasn't Loki. This was just Clint. She hadn't thought he'd actually use the knife. That part scared her. But by the way his face crumpled when he registered what had happened, she knew he would never hurt her willingly.  
  
Clint started shaking all over. He'd been so close. He was terrified. Natasha grabbed his wrists, pulling him towards her and he let his body slump onto the bed. With his head in her lap she cradled his head, not commenting on the tears soaking her night shirt. They sat in silence for a long time, crying together as the reality of their situation sunk in. Finally they gave themselves the chance to grieve for everything that had happened. Clint held on to Natasha's legs as if he was floating away; in a way he already had.  
  
“I'm so sorry Tash. I never meant to – it was something Loki pulled out of me. He wanted me to-” Her whispers cut him off as she smoothed her fingers through his hair.  
  
Natasha kissed his head. “I know.”  
  
“Tash, I'm so, so sorry. You're the only thing I have left. You're the only one who stuck around all those years,” A shaky inhale. “The only one I've let myself care for and Christ, I just tried to kill you. I-” Clint leant back, looking into Natasha's eyes. “I'm sorry. I'll get help, I will.”  
  
Looking at the broken man in her lap tore Natasha up inside. “I know Милая моя.” A pause. “Fury has asked for our help tomorrow with something. The whole team will be there and it's nothing major but I can't get you out of it. Just, hold it together for this mission and I can get us away for a while, I promise. We'll get away.”

 

\- - - - -

  
The nothing major turned out to be pretty major. Clint wanted to strangle Nick Fury.  
  
Stark flew overheard in a suit so banged up it was a wonder it flew it all. Rogers and Natasha were running and bouncing away from tiny spiderlike robots, occasionally pausing to destroy a few. Clint was on the ground this time, firing the odd bow at anything that got too close. He was thankful all this was happening further into the suburbs.  
  
Natasha looked beautiful flying through the air, bouncing herself off Steve's shield and spinning, guns raised and firing. Clint felt awful, the exhaustion bone deep and it was showing in his form. Arrows kept missing their targets, his punches were slow and loose. No one mentioned it but that might have been because they were in just as bad shape. Tony's repulsor kept flicking on and off while Steve's suit was breaking through its hasty stitching. All of them were bruised and bleeding.  
  
“Cap! CAP! Behind you!” Stark shouted over the comms as Natasha swung around, firing at a larger robot.  
  
“Where did that come from? Is there more?” Steve spoke quickly, crushing another technological disaster under his boots. They all stared in disbelief as the miniature creatures in front of them doubled in size.  
  
“Oh, you have to be kidding me!” Stark swore over and over, rushing down to join the others on the ground.  
  
The gang fell into line, back to back, obliterating animated pieces of metal as fast as their weary limbs could manage. Clint was running out of bows and knew Natasha was low on bullets. They couldn't go on like this much longer but the tidal wave of spiderbots kept coming. The odd brave citizen was helping from the sidelines, setting fire to some or using tools from their garages to disassemble them. The city was no longer afraid. How could they be when they'd faced off with aliens days earlier?  
  
Everyone watched in horror as the creatures doubled again and a man appeared, walking beside them. He was dressed in all black but silver shone through the tears in his clothing. His walk was uneven and heavy, confirming Clint's-  
  
“Holy Christ, is he half _metal_?” Tony barked out, ironically.  
  
The team became a blur of motion as everyone kicked into gear with a new ferocity. Natasha and Clint were to create a path for Steve to get through where hand to hand combat would be most efficient. Tony was a decoy to gage the strength of their enemy. Clint and Natasha could hear parts of his suit falling away and over the comms could hear swears as Tony bare knuckle punched metal creature after metal creature.  
  
Minutes later and Clint was lost in a haze of adrenaline, completely unaware of what was going on behind him until Natasha was shouting his name over the earpieces. Whipping around he noticed Stark fallen on the ground, still breathing but unconscious. The Captain was under a mountain of spiderbots, being held down and Natasha was running towards their creator. Almost in slow motion, Clint could see the man raise his arm which was now fully uncovered, revealing patches of metal underneath the skin. Clint had one arrow left, his bow perfectly lined with the man's forehead. One shot would do it. Out of the corner of his eye he could see two of the biggest robots rushing towards Natasha, trying to sandwich her body between them. She locked eyes with him, waiting for the arrows release. That's when Clint noticed her.  
  
A little girl in a dirtied yellow dress had wandered behind the man. She was too far away to see her face but Clint could have sworn it was his little girl – the little girl from the dreams. She looked straight in Clint's direction and started waving her hands around, wanting him to follow her. His breath caught in his throat as images of a twisted face, dead eyes and the feeling of choking on a child's blood rushed over him.  
  
“CLINT!” Natasha's voice was raised in panic.  
  
He faltered. Only slightly. But it was enough. The two robots collided with Natasha in the middle. The gears grinding against each other made the most awful noise and Clint stood frozen as seconds passed by. Natasha. His stubborn, otherworldly Natasha. He'd, he'd caused, it was-  
  
Everything came back into focus as Steve's body flew past Clint, tackling the metal man and pushing his face into the concrete. Willing his legs to go faster, the archer scrambled to the metal heap, his eyes trained on a tiny snippet of red in the midst of all that silver. Oh God. What had he done? The skin on his arms screamed in agony as Clint foraged through the mess, jagged metal edges cutting deep.  
  
“Tash. Oh God. Tash, can you hear me? Tasha! Tasha where are you?”  
  
A hand flopped out from a gap and Clint grasped it, hard. Desperately fumbling for a pulse, Clint willed away the tears dripping down his face. A slight beat had him dragging gears and circuit boards away from the top faster than his body should have allowed. Enough was eventually thrown to the side that Clint could pull her out.  
  
Natasha's face was bloody, her suit sliced in multiple places as blood trickled out of the openings. Her body was unnaturally limp in his grasp and he cradled her head in his lap, not unlike the way she did for him.  
  
“Tash, Tash speak to me. Open your eyes, please” Clint gently tapped her face.  
  
Whispering. “Tash, please. I'm sorry. Please come back to me.”  
  
This was it. This was Clint's worst nightmare.

\- - - - -

 

She looked so small in the giant hospital bed. Fury had splashed out for a private room after Steve and Tony relayed the days events, laying into him about irresponsible team management or leadership or something. Clint had been too scared to leave Natasha's bedside to check what they were saying to him. Her face was patchy, the red cuts merging into blue bruises and just looking at them made Clint wince. She'd had surgery, twice. There was internal bleeding and then physical cuts that needed to be tended to. Clint had lost count after the doctor inserted the fortieth stitch. Her body was trying to patch itself up but she still hadn't come around and it frightened Clint to his very core. Forget the dreams, forget Loki. Losing Natasha was the one thing in life he was heart stopping-ly terrified of.  
  
Even though the lights were turned down low, her eyes still burned a little when she opened them. That's what she'd blame the tears on when she talked about it later. It had nothing to do with Clint drawn up by her side, fists clenched and raised high in the air as if in prayer. Nothing at all. Natasha wondered if he was talking to someone out there, wondered if anyone was even listening. Did they deserve to be heard after everything they'd done?  
  
Who knows. But Natasha thanked someone, something, whatever was out there for bringing Clint back to her. There were shadows outside her room; doctors waiting to come in, probably Fury wishing to check in, maybe even Coulson. But she didn't want to face them yet. Gently nudging Clint's head with her hand he turned his head and faced her, eyes watery already. _This whole ordeal had made him such a softy_ she thought with endearment.  
  
She haltingly signed to him, _'I need you.'_  
  
Clint unclasped his hands to reply with, _'I'll never stop needing you.'_

Smiling softly, Natasha shifted in bed, barely able to catch the wince that escaped her lips. Clint caught it though and lay his head on her lap, gently, ever so gently. Clint cried. Messy, loud sobs that filled up the room and Natasha watched the door for anyone intruding. Unable to do anything else, Natasha scratched through his hair, pulling softly on the hairs at the nape of his neck, waiting until he calmed down. She felt his muscles loosen under her fingertips, a sigh escaping his lips. Clint relaxed for the first time in months.

Turning to face her, one eye squished against the covers, he stared. Natasha watched him look at her, as if he could see right through her.  
  
Natasha signed again, wary of the people outside, _'Can we finally get away now?'_  
  
Clint smiled genuinely, half of his crooked grin disappearing into the covers. Natasha knows they'll be okay.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Милая моя = my dear

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first time writing something that involves such central action scenes so please forgive me if things aren't quite up to scratch. Feedback would be really appreciated and as always, please press the kudos button if you liked it! 
> 
> Do not copy, duplicate or re-post in any shape or form. I do not authorise this piece of writing to be used anywhere.


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